


Chance Encounters

by fingalsanteater



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Banter, Chocolate Box Treat, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-23 23:57:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9689078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fingalsanteater/pseuds/fingalsanteater
Summary: Malfoy is living and working as a Muggle. Harry keeps running into him.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rivers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rivers/gifts).



"I had it under control, Potter," Malfoy said, lip bloodied from where a Muggle thief had elbowed him while sliding over the counter to grab the money from the register.  
  
Harry tried not to roll his eyes and only marginally succeeded.  
  
"Yeah, it really looked it, with you passed out on the floor and him stuffing his pockets full. Did you have it 'under control -'" Harry put those words in air quotes - "in your dreams?"  
  
Harry was unable to avoid falling back into old conversational habits, having just been violently dragged back into the past by a blond, pointy git he never expected to see again - especially not in the tiny Muggle corner store where Harry had just nipped in to grab a bag of crisps for a snack in lieu of a proper lunch. Harry had thought Malfoy had moved to Italy with his mother after their estate was sold to pay the Ministry's war debts.  
  
Malfoy crossed his arms over his chest and huffed. "Well I'm not going to thank you for saving me, if that's what you're waiting around here for. You'd think you'd get enough of that already."  
  
Harry had grown a thicker skin over the years, but jabs at his hero status in the wizarding world still could worm their way in and sting.  
  
"No," said Harry, with a forceful authority that belayed his hurt, "I'm waiting for the Muggle police so I can provide statement as a witness."  
  
Malfoy frowned, opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again before finally saying, "Fine."  
  
Then the police arrived and that was the last they spoke directly to each other.

* * *

The next time Harry saw Malfoy, he was responding to a report of a breach of the Statute of Secrecy. Also known as "some Muggles saw something dodgy. Why did Fredricks assign you this, mate? Seems like something Yancy could handle." But Ron knew Kingsley had his reasons, so he didn't question Harry much beyond that.  
  
When Harry arrived at the apartment block, the old woman who had made the report (to the Muggle police, which had then been routed to the Auror division) was waiting out front with none other than Malfoy.  
  
"I'm Officer Potter," he said, greeting them as a Muggle and ignoring the narrowing of Draco's eyes. "Can you tell me what happened?"  
  
Her story was a rambling affair that boiled down to two men in dark cloaks had attempted to curse Malfoy, who'd dodged at the last second. A row of mailboxes had been liquefied instead of Malfoy.  
  
Harry thanked her, Obliviated her, and sent her on her way. Malfoy, who'd been blessedly silent the whole time, tried to leave too, only to be held by Harry's hand on his arm.  
  
"I didn't say you could leave," he said. "Now I want to know the whole story."  
  
He shrugged out of Harry's grasp and said, "What more is there to say? People hold grudges. Sometimes those people find me."  
  
Harry was startled by the implication. "People like who? Former Death Eaters? Sympathizers?"  
  
The Ministry was still attempting to track down Death Eaters from Voldemort’s inner circle who’d ran, and even those who were possibly peripherally involved were being looked into.

"Or, someone from your side, Potter. Don't be obtuse. I have enemies on all sides."  
  
Harry couldn't deny there was a volatile anti-Death Eater sentiment in the wizarding world, with even those who were victims just as much as anyone else being targeted as sympathizers. He was actually working a case in which Mr. Roberts, owner of Rocshead Inn, who'd been forced to rent rooms to some Death Eaters at one point during the war, had been beaten and his inn burnt to the ground.  
  
"You're right," said Harry, and Malfoy goggled.  
  
"Never thought I'd hear you admit that," he said with just a bit of cheek.  
  
Harry frowned. "About this one thing," he amended. "It could have very well been two anti-Death Eater types."  
  
A small smile graced Malfoy’s face. "Ruin my day, why don't you, Potter. Now if we're done, I've got to get ready for work."  
  
Harry wanted to ask if he still worked at that corner store, but his curiosity wasn't so strong that it overtook his common sense. The less he knew about Draco Malfoy's strange Muggle life, the better.

* * *

Harry's date was an American wizard, which was why he'd said yes in the first place. The fact that he hadn't been involved in the war and barely understood Harry's role in it was a selling point, despite the man not quite being Harry's type. Still, he was nice and attractive, and he enjoyed going to Muggle restaurants, which Harry preferred just to avoid prying eyes.  
  
Harry wasn't paying attention when the waiter approached, engrossed in a conversation with Miguel, his date, about his education at the lesser known American wizarding school hidden away in the southwest.  
  
"I chose Armadillo house," he told Harry. "We all specialized in defensive magic. I'd always been good at shielding spells, but I really wanted to master Expecto Patronum." He gestured to Harry with his breadstick, "I hear you can cast a very powerful Patronus." His eyes were shiny with interest and Harry groaned inwardly, definitely not wanting to discuss that particular charm over dinner.    
  
"Excuse me, sirs," said someone drolly. Harry surreptitiously removed the charm that disguised their conversion as something Muggle friendly and turned toward the voice.  
  
He found Draco Malfoy staring back at him, a strange look on his face.  
  
"My name is Daniel,” he said quickly, “and I'll be taking over for Nari." He set their drinks on coasters in front of them. Harry murmured an automatic thank you, still too surprised that his waiter was Malfoy, of all people, to say anything else.  
  
"Are you ready to order, or are you still looking the menu over?" Malfoy asked, in full on customer service mode with barely a trace of the man Harry had met before.  
  
Miguel asked, "What specials do you have?"  
  
So, Harry had to listen to Malfoy, or Daniel as he said his name was, list off the specials menu expertly enough that it was obvious he'd been waiting tables for a while. It was disconcerting to say the least.  
  
When he finally took their orders and left, Harry found himself sighing and slumping slightly in his chair. He hadn't realized he'd been so on edge, but leave it to Malfoy to ruin a decent date just by terrible coincidence.  
  
"So, what was that all about?" Asked Miguel, eyeing Harry like a hawk.  
  
"What do you mean?" Harry tried for innocent, nonchalant. Miguel wasn't going for it.  
  
"You and that guy. As soon as you saw him you tensed up. And he wasn't much better. You guys exes or something?"  
  
"No, no," Harry sputtered. "Nothing like that." He paused, trying to think of a way to put their long relationship, or lack thereof nowadays, into words. It was surprisingly difficult, so Harry fumbled a simple explanation.  
  
"We were at school together, but we, um - we didn't quite get on," he said, leaving out everything that actually mattered, everything that really ties them together and made it difficult for Harry to forget him now they’d found themselves in each other’s orbits again.

Thankfully, Miguel left it at that, telling Harry that there were some people back in the States he was glad he wouldn't run into now that he was living in England.  
  
Throughout the meal, Harry tried to pretend that Daniel was Daniel, some Muggle who he wouldn't see again, and not Malfoy, who he was becoming increasingly more curious about. But, he couldn’t help but see Malfoy shining out from behind the mask of Daniel, and that’s the person he was interested in.

* * *

His curiosity just grew and grew, despite being bogged down at work with what Harry had begun to think of as the Malfoy case, even though it was the burning of the Rocshead Inn that really kicked off the investigation into the vigilantism against any person who had been involved with Voldemort or his followers.  
  
Which is why Harry told himself he was actually working when he went back to the restaurant by himself a week and a half later.  
  
He asked the host, "Is Daniel working tonight? He was my waiter the other day and I'll like to be seated in his section if I can."  
  
"You're in luck," he answered, running his finger down the seating chart. "Looks like he has a few free tables. Right this way."  
  
He led Harry to a corner table near the kitchen where Harry spotted Malfoy dropping off some dirty dishes through the doors as they opened and shut. There was no way Malfoy could miss him when he exited. He didn't, but beyond the widening of his eyes when he spotted Harry, he ignored him, taking an order from a couple a few tables away.  
  
Harry watched him enter the order into the computer, marveling at how adept he seemed with Muggle technology. He had a million questions for him, from why he stayed in England when he could have gone somewhere the war didn’t touch, to how he was coping effectively living as a Muggle.

Malfoy caught Harry staring. Harry, feeling his cheeks heat, turned his attention to his napkin and silverware instead. It was when Harry was playing with the fork, pressing on the tines so it flipped up, then letting it drop down again, that Malfoy finally approached. The fork fell back to the table with a clatter as Draco put on his Daniel voice again and said, "I'm sorry to keep you waiting. I'm Daniel and..."  
  
Harry interrupted him. "Forget the spiel," he said, wanting Malfoy and not Daniel. "I wanted to talk."  
  
"I'm not sure what you mean," said Malfoy, waving his finger around like it was a wand and giving Harry a very pointed look.  
  
"Oh," Harry said, realizing what Malfoy meant, and then cast a Muffliato.  
  
Malfoy laid into him, words seething out between his clenched teeth like bile. "I'm beginning to think you showing up everywhere I am is no accident, Potter. Though I can't imagine what you got out of bringing your date here. Come, laugh at the once great Malfoy as he works a shite job surrounded by Muggles." His lip was curled in disgust.  
  
Harry had come there to have a civil conversation like an adult, but Malfoy's tone brought out the worst in him.  
  
"You would have had to been great for that to be possible," said Harry. "It's more like 'see Malfoy as he is and always has been - pathetic.'"  
  
"Oh, right, like you're any better," Malfoy scoffed. "Can't keep your Weaselette girlfriend and now you're shagging every bloke who asks?"  
  
Harry laughed, despite himself. "I see you still read the Daily Prophet."  
  
"That rag? No way,” said Malfoy. “You just have that look. Desperate. Like a man who'll fuck anyone because it gives him something else to think about for a while."  
  
Harry felt like he'd been doused in ice water. It wasn't true, of course, as he hadn't had a shag in months, not even with Miguel even though they could have. Malfoy’s accusation said more of Malfoy than Harry.  
  
But he didn't have the heart to turn it around on Malfoy, who looked rather miserable and harried, so he just said, "Look, every other time I ran into you was pure coincidence. But I'm here now, purposely, to talk. I'm working on a case and I'm pretty sure it's connected to those wizards who attacked you."  
  
Draco's mouth twisted into a frown.  
  
"I can't talk now. If it’s not obvious, I'm working. Not everyone has the freedom like you to do whatever they want.”  
  
Harry ignored the slight jab and said, "Okay. But when do you get off? Can I meet you after?"  
  
Sighing Draco said, "I'll never be rid of you if I don't agree, will I?"

Harry nodded an affirmative.  
  
"Fine. You remember where my flat is, I'm sure. Come over tomorrow morning at eight and we'll talk.” He started to turn and walk away, but then added. “Oh, and bring me coffee."  
  
"Bring you coffee?" Harry said, incredulous.  
  
"If I'm going to have to suffer you in the morning, I'll need caffeine. Call it an incentive."

* * *

So, Harry found himself juggling two coffees at 7:58 the next morning and knocking on Malfoy’s door. He answered, dressed in a white button down with a name tag that read “Daniel” pinned on his chest.

“Just how many jobs do you have?” Asked Harry, finally giving into his curiosity.

Malfoy plucked the coffee from Harry’s hand and moved aside so Harry could come in. It looked like a completely normal flat, complete with a telly and ratty couch and an electric kettle in the kitchen. 

“Why? So you can keep stalking me?” He took a sip of the coffee and sighed contentedly. The sound caught in Harry's ears strangely, carrying warmth down to his belly and groin. That, combined with Muggle surroundings, so disparate from how Harry had always pictured Malfoy, distracted Harry so long that Malfoy finally looked to him in askance.    

“No,” said Harry quickly, finding his train of thought again. “Curious.”

Sneering he said, “Stuff your curiosity and get on with the questions. I already told you all I knew the last time.”

Malfoy took a seat at the kitchen table, which only had one chair, while Harry leaned against the counter. He started with the basics again even though it was completely unnecessary. He told himself he wanted to get it right, and that was true, but there was something else, something nagging at him that he couldn’t quite grab hold of.

“Come on, Potter,” said Malfoy, exasperated, “I already answered all this. And, I have to leave soon anyway.”

“Work?”

Malfoy gestured to his name tag. “You think I’ve got my Muggle name on to just remind myself of what I’ve become?”

He sounded so angry and Harry couldn’t help but want to crack him wide open if he could.

“And what have you become?” He asked, seizing the opportunity.

Malfoy laughed bitterly. “Is that an official question or are you just prying?”

Harry surprised himself and said, “Not prying. Not really. I – I want to know… you.” It wasn’t the best phrasing, but it was the truth.

Malfoy’s brow briefly creased in confusion and then he barked out a derisive laugh. “You don’t get to ‘know me,’ Potter. You gave up that right fifteen years ago when you refused to shake my hand.”

It took Harry a second to remember what he meant, and then he threw back, “You mean when you were a little snot who insulted my friend? I was better off.”

“You are still better off,” said Malfoy. “How’s the ol’ Weasel? Still sticking his dick in that stack of musty books?”

Malfoy had got the better of him again, and Harry yanked him from his chair, shoving him against the wall and pulling his wand to press against Malfoy’s throat.

“Is that any way to treat a witness,” said Malfoy, smirking. “I could file a complaint with the Ministry for excessive force.”

“No one would believe you,” Harry said, and instantly regretted it when Malfoy’s smirk fell away. It was the truth, but it was also a cruel reminder that he was nothing in the wizarding world.

“You’re so easy,” said Malfoy, turning mean again. “How’d you even make it as an Auror if I can rile you with just one insult?”

Harry didn’t tell him that it was just him, that Malfoy still got under his skin after all these years. Instead he said, “Don’t you say one more word about my friends,” and stepped away. But, Malfoy wasn’t done pushing Harry, stepping forward so he was back in Harry’s space.

“Why? What was ever so great about them?” He asked, voice tinged with desperation, hand grabbing the front of Harry’s robes. Harry was too shocked to push him away.

“W- what?” He stuttered.

“You heard me,” said Malfoy. “Why them?”

He didn’t even give him a chance to answer before pressing his lips against Harry’s, stealing every thought from his brain and the breath from his lungs.

When Malfoy’s tongue brushed against his mouth, Harry found his sense and shoved him away.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Malfoy,” he demanded.

“Still too good for me, Potter, even after everything?” Malfoy’s lips were pink and his eyes were large and pale, pupils wide enough to swallow up the gray.

Harry was standing on crumbling ground and Malfoy was kicking more pieces away. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said, his breath coming faster. “Malfoy, what’s the matter with you?”

Malfoy seemed to deflate. “Nothing,” he said, turning away. “Just get out.”

Harry cautiously put his hand on Malfoy’s shoulder.

“Potter,” he said, low and dangerous, “get out right now.”

Deciding not to chance it, Harry reluctantly left. He glanced back at Malfoy before he closed the door, and even though Harry couldn’t see his face, the familiar slump of his shoulders betrayed him. Harry recalled a sixth year boy crying in the girl’s bathroom and his heart clenched.

* * *

Despite Malfoy kissing him and then kicking him out, Harry didn’t stay away for long. He couldn’t, not before his curiosity had been sated. The case was an excuse, Harry realized; what he had told Malfoy was true, he did want to know him. And, the kiss just spurred him on.

He showed up at Malfoy’s flat two mornings later with coffee. This time Malfoy yelled at him from the other side of the door.

“Go away, Potter!”

“I brought coffee,” said Harry, trying for cheerful but sounding more pathetic than he intended.

“It’s my only day off for three weeks and I’m planning on having a lie in.” Harry heard something thump against the door. “Not that you need to know that,” Malfoy added.

“I can’t drink both of these.” Harry waggled the cup in front of the peephole. “And I’m not leaving until you open the door besides. Hey, how good are your wards.”

He heard Malfoy groan and then the door opened as far as the chain lock would allow. “My wards are excellent. Now give it here and go,” he said, sticking his hand out the crack of the door.

Harry peeked in and gasped at the sight of Malfoy. He had a dark bruise on his cheek and a cut across his brow where his forehead looked to have been split open. 

“Merlin, Malfoy. What happened?”

Malfoy gingerly touched his fingers to the cut over his eyebrow. “Oh, nothing,” he said, shifting his body away from the door so he was out of Harry’s sight line.  

“Nothing my arse! Why didn’t you heal that? Or go to St. Mungos?” Harry asked, irrationally irritated at Malfoy for not taking care of himself.

“Forget it, Potter. Leave me alone!” Malfoy whispered furiously.

“No way,” Harry said, “let me in. Don’t make me break your wards.”

Malfoy muttered, “Damn it,” but then closed the door just enough to slide the lock open.

Harry all but pushed his way.

“Come in,” Malfoy said sarcastically.

He looked worse that Harry imagined. Besides the bruise and cut on his forehead, his other eye was swollen shut and he had three fingers crudely wrapped up on his left hand, obviously broken.

“Merlin,” said Harry, hardly believing the state of him. “Who did this?”

Malfoy sunk down on the couch while Harry set the coffee on the counter.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “They were waiting for me went I got out of work this morning.”

Harry sat next to him and placed his hand gently on Malfoy’s jaw, turning his face toward him.

“Wizard or Muggle?” Malfoy didn’t pull away from Harry’s gentle touch.

“Wizard, I think. Maybe the same men from before. The cloaks were the same.” His breath hitched a little as Harry brushed his bangs away from his forehead to make sure there were no other gashes.

Pulling his own wand from his jacket holster, Harry asked, “Where was your wand?”

Malfoy closed his eyes, and breathed in deeply before letting it out slow. “It doesn’t…” He paused and took another deep breath that sounded almost like a sob, then started again. “The one I have now has never really worked for me. Ever since - well.” Harry knew he meant ever since Malfoy had been master of the Elder Wand and didn’t press that line of questioning further.

“Why didn’t they just curse you?” Harry wondered aloud.

“They said something like, if I was going to act like a Muggle, I was going to get beat like a Muggle. I think. They’d already knocked me in the head by then. I was honestly lucky someone scared them off or it would have been worse.”.   

Harry couldn’t bear to look at Malfoy all bruised and beaten any longer. “Can I heal you, then?” He asked.

Malfoy nodded and Harry whispered the spells, watching as Malfoy’s bruises and cuts faded and the swelling around his eye receded. Remembering Malfoy’s fingers, he carefully took his hand and fixed that as well. He unwrapped the bandages and Malfoy flexed his hand, testing out Harry’s spell work.

“Pretty good spellwork, Potter,” he said, sounding genuine.

Malfoy was looking like himself again and Harry realized how close they were, one hand still framing Malfoy’s stubbled jaw. He suddenly felt hot all over and the kiss they’d shared returned unbidden to Harry’s mind.

Harry had to ask, “Why did you kiss me the other day?”

“Why did you show back up and heal me?” Malfoy countered.

“I – I told you the other day,” Harry said, “Because I want to get to know you.”

Laughing, Malfoy said, “And how better to get to know someone than in bed.”

Harry opened his mouth to disagree, to tell him it was more than that, but Malfoy leaned in, quick as a snake, and kissed him again. Harry couldn’t push him away this time, wanting whatever Malfoy would give him and realizing that he didn’t want to say no regardless. He pulled Malfoy closer.

Malfoy didn’t quite get his lie in, but he didn’t leave the bed for the rest of the day regardless.

* * *

It was Harry’s idea to trail Malfoy in an effort to catch his attackers.

“They’ve come for you twice now,” he said. “What’s stopping them from coming a third time?”

Malfoy ventured a guess. “Nothing?”

“Right,” said Harry, “So, I follow you –“

“I always knew you were a stalker,” Malfoy said, smirking.

“Surveil you,” Harry said firmly, “to your job, flat, wherever, and catch them in the act.”

Rolling his eyes, “Draco said, “Catching them in the act doesn’t sound very promising for me.”

Harry kissed him. “Don’t worry.”

Malfoy groused, “Don’t worry, he says. Easy for you to say; you’re not the bait.”

“It’ll be fine,” Harry promised.

And, surprisingly, it was fine.

He’d told Kingsley of his suspicions, that Malfoy was being targeted same as the owner of Rocshead Inn. He gave Harry the go ahead with the surveillance and also put a few other Aurors on the case as back-up.

They easily grabbed the guys who showed up to menace Malfoy in the alley as he left at the end of his shift.

“First time Malfoy made anything easy for us,” Ron said as he bound the men and prepared them for side-along Apparition.

“You’re welcome,” Malfoy said, attempting to look casual about the whole affair by leaning up against a wall, though Harry could tell he was actually quite rattled and nervous. Harry was a little shocked he could read Malfoy so well, but he had been watching him for years now, if he was being honest with himself. 

“Right,” said Ron, completely ignoring Malfoy. He was much better at not rising to the bait than Harry was. “Yancy and I’ll take them in. You’ll be okay with Malfoy on your own?”

“Don’t worry about him, Weasel,” Malfoy said. “I’ll take good care of him.”

Ron was rightfully confused. “Is that some kind of weird threat?”  

Harry groaned and glared at Malfoy, who still looked nervous.

“Don’t worry, Ron,” he said, “Malfoy’s just being annoying. We’ll be fine. I can handle him.”

“Well, send your Patronus if you need any help,” Ron said carefully. He called Yancy over from where he had been keeping watch and they side-alonged to the Ministry.

“Thank Merlin, they’re gone.” Malfoy sighed. “Can you Apparate me home?”

Harry had been about to admonish him for attempting to set Ron off, but the sight of Malfoy visibly relaxing when it was just them two made his heart stutter in his chest.

* * *

Harry didn’t stop seeing Malfoy. They met several times a week - sometimes to talk, sometimes for sex, sometimes both. Harry still brought him coffee.

“You do realize we are essentially dating, Harry,” Malfoy said, always eager to tear the rug out from under him.

“Um,” said Harry, mostly surprised to hear Malfoy addressing him as Harry and not just Potter. He had already realized that they were dating; he wasn’t thick.

Malfoy leaned across his kitchen table, which now had two chairs, to kiss Harry. “Eloquent as always.”

“Well, Draco,” Harry said, whispering his name against Draco’s lips, “tell me something I don’t already know and you might get a better answer.”

Pulling his chair closer to Harry's, he took Harry's chin in his hand and kissed his way up Harry's jaw, to his ear where he nibbled on his earlobe a bit.

Softly, hesitantly, he said, "I love you," playing the game of one-upmanship and admitting something he’d not said before.

Harry smiled, feeling warm all over.

“I knew that too,” he said.

Draco just laughed, curled his hand around the back of Harry’s neck and pulled him in for another kiss.


End file.
